the hope of fulfilling the demands of a regular office position, even if one had been open to her.  Mrs. Finnegan’s enthusiasm to be neighborly and helpful was more a matter of theory than practice, and it did not take Claire many days to decide that she had no right to impose upon a good nature which was made up largely of ignorance of a sick-room’s demands.  Claire’s final check from Flint was dwindling with alarming rapidity; indeed, she was facing the first of the year with the realization that there would be barely enough to pay the next month’s rent, let alone to settle the current bills.  She had no idea what Mrs. Condor intended paying, but she fancied that it must be little enough.  Surely Mrs. Condor did not receive any great sum for her singing and there must be any number of gratuitous performances.  She decided quite suddenly, the day after Christmas, to take Mrs. Condor at her word, and she was a bit disturbed at both the lady’s reply and the manner of it.

“Oh,” Mrs. Condor had drawled rather disagreeably, “I thought you’d given up the idea.  I spoke to somebody else only this morning.  But, of course, I’m not certain about how it will turn out.  I’ll keep you in mind and if the other falls through....  By the way, how is your mother?  I keep asking Ned Stillman every day what the news is, but he never knows anything.  All men are alike ... unless they’ve got some special interest.  Sometimes I marvel that he looks me up so regularly, but then I’ve known him ever since....  But there, I’ll be telling more than I should!  Do come and see me.  I’m always in in the morning....  Yes, I can imagine you do have a lot to do.  I’m so sorry you didn’t call up sooner.  But one never can tell.  Good-by....  I hope you’ll have a happy New Year.”

Claire hung up the receiver.  Well, she had lost an opportunity to turn an easy dollar or two and she had no one to thank but herself.  Why had she delayed in accepting Mrs. Condor’s offer?

Fortunately the unexpected arrival of Nellie Whitehead cut short any further repinings.  Claire was frankly glad to see her and at once she thought, “She has come to show me her new coat.”

But Nellie Whitehead was incased in a wrap that showed every evidence of a good six months’ wear.

“My new coat?” the lady echoed, in answer to Claire’s question.  “There ain’t no such animal.  Somebody else copped it.  I didn’t shove it back far enough the last time I took a look at it, I guess.  Oh, well, I should worry!  I can get along very well without it....”

When Nellie Whitehead rose to leave, dusk had fallen and Claire was fumbling for matches to light the hall gas, when she felt her friend’s hand close over hers.  There followed the cold pressure of several coins against Claire’s palm and the voice of her visitor sounding a bit tremulous in the dusk.

“You’ll need some extra money, Robson, or I miss my guess.”

Claire fell back with a gesture of protest.  “Why, Nellie Whitehead, how could you?  It’s your coat money, too!  Well, I never!”